Eternity

I.

Offer up this one sacrifice
and the next—
the morning,
a child that leads us,
the days like silver candles
not to be blown out.

The prayers of sinners
you collect,
a colorful rage
of cultivated flowers
in a staple bouquet.

The estranged world
of pride and injustice,
searched for a wooden nickel
to pay for the ride.

I lay on the ground,
looking up at the sky,
staring at the sun,
watching the long oblique day
turn to even’s dusk.

Your hair flows
like a river of incense,
dark and burnished
as a scarlet apple.

Forever is a long time,
a long time to be apart from you;
and so, I am held
in the circle of your mind.

II.

This is the age
of finality
when the night
of the end times
refers to a garden,
surrounded by a wall,
where once a man
could sweat alone—
drops of blood,
in great anguish,
wearing the cloak
of the martyrs.

Now
some remember
to pray and some
pray to forget.

III.

There is a river that flows
from the center of your heart
of contemplation
of the divine and its
mystery;
and your eyes imbue
the shadows, where
standing, your words
in the darkness—
glittering diamonds—
adorn a king.

In gowns of crimson fire,
the pure
are purified
in a furnace of seventy
times seven:
entering the great marble hall
of sorrow’s recognition,
once more
recreated
from mourning to joy.

IV.

And the two olive trees
that stand before the
eternal throne,
pouring out golden oil
for the seven lamp stands
sing day and night:
a tapestry of
the melodic
distance of prophecy,
beauty for ashes.

Justice and Liberty,
the icons of a tower,
and portals of a nation:
rekindling fire and birth,
the pains of the presence.

In gestation,
the fields shall turn to gold,
the seasons relinquish,
harvest time draw its spell;
the sun shall rise,
the moon disappear,
tracing the colors of the night;
if—to love, to heal,
forgotten, fades into surreal—
the silk and sapphire
gowns of a young empress,
are cast for lots in a galaxy of old
meteor stones.

V.

When the last shades are drawn
the last secrets
whispered in darkness
I will remain there
amongst the shadows
I will lie down
amidst the stones
my mournful songs
will fill the night sky
the regal stars will fall
in burning splendor before me.

VI.

Beloved countrymen,
my promise of first love,
your beautiful soul
was led away in chains,
held captive
for three years,
and your eyes blinked at the
injustice
and you said nothing.

For a world that
condemned you,
you gave only the most worthy gift,
a precious stone
became your birthright,
rising like a star
that lit the darkness,
traveling through
many nights and days
of hardship and suffering
to reach Israel’s dowry
of African lace.

The young child in the desert
lay down his head,
white-gold and gentle
beside the nest of the cobra,
and tried to keep the poison
from entering his soul.

VII.

In the fury of gods
wilted rile
in the cloister
of one draped love,
a peace beyond time
and in liberty, I shed my
cloak for your earth,
and this dignity pressed
mine;
when I found you
in virginity
and the rhythm of your gait
was like a silver courtyard at dusk,
then the prince of time
became my hands and feet,
and I imprisoned you in death
that I might be your
sorrow-stone.

IV.

The four walls
enclosed thy
soul, but
not thy spirit,
while
unrelentless,
the divine
pursued thee,
ravished thee,
undone,
word-worn,
torn:

O Innocent!


Domini est salus
Dominis est salus
Christi est salus
Salus tua, Domine
Sit semper nobiscum


Emily Isaacson